Tortured Soul
by Unessential
Summary: Snape's struck by love. And he cannot get out. He's a tortured soul, after all.


**Tortured Soul**

Snape rarely got drunk. In fact, he stayed away from most cases of Firewhiskey or alcohol. He did not like losing control of his senses, unable to control his motions.

Some days were an exception. On those days, Snape would bring out a dusty old case, filled with shattered bottles. The shards of dusty glass cut his arms, leaving long trails of scarlet liquid slowly dripping down. He would bring out a old bottle of Firewhiskey, and pull out the cork. He'd tilt his head back, his mangy hair falling everywhere, and gulp as splotches of Firewhiskey filled his mouth, burning his toungue, the smell inflaming his nostrils.

Everything would become a kaleidoscope of dark, blurring colour. Snape would lurch drunkenly and fall on the bed, and he would cry. Sometimes he would beat his fists against the walls, angry at himself and everyone else.

He would become exhausted, and fall asleep, until he woke up, vomiting. For Severus Snape was allergic to Firewhiskey. He always had been That's why he only drank it on special days, like Halloween.

* * *

The Potter brat was coming to Hogwarts. Snape could imagine the boy, a miniature replica of the arrogant James Potter.

James Potter was one of the only men Severus Snape truly hated. One of the only men Snape would gladly let rot in a dark, hellish abyss if it wasn't for the unfortunate fact he was dead, but not by his hand. The other men were Lord Voldemort, Dumbledory, Sirius Black and Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

The boy who Lily had sacrificed her life for. Her invaluable life, for his worthless, scrawny heart.

He could imagine her body, twirling in the moments before Death embraced her, her long shrieks filling his ears with remorse and regret. Her fiery, soft, red hair would be swooping and swerving, obscuring her beautiful face. Her vivid emerald eyes would slowly fade to a disturbing emptiness, the emptiness of Severus's soul.

The boy would never appreciate her sacrifice. He would just brush over it, and waste the life Lily had given to him, on the cost of her own.

He could imagine his darkish hazel eyes not welling up with tears every time her name was mentioned. He could imagine scruffy black hair that seemed to laugh at Severus. _I got the girl, what did you get? Your ruined case of Firewhiskey_.

He could imagine the confident lope, a shining broomstick affixed on the wall. A sneering mouth which only rubbish would spill out of.

Snape hated Harry Potter. And that is why he wanted to kill Dumbledore. For Dumbledore had also made Snape waste his life, by making the Potions Master protect the devilish boy.

* * *

Lily had only ever gone out with James because Snape had annoyed her. He had driven her away into the waiting arms of James Potter, by uttering that epithet he wished he never had uttered, that epithet which constantly roared in his ears every time he tried to sleep, drowning out the dreams of Lily Evans.

Snape had nobody else to blame except himself for the fact Lily had gone to James, to her death. And he was also to blame for her death, for he had passed on the Prophecy to her killed.

He wished he had never heard the Prophecy, wished Voldemort hadn't sent him to Hogsmeade to watch the Headmaster, wished he had lost the Headmaster in the milling crowd. He wished he had never joined the ranks of the Death Eaters.

But wishing was futile, it did nothing. Severus knew the black and white truth of the world. Some men lived blessed lives; the others could only cry at the remnants. Wishing was worthless.

How many times had Severus lay, wishing for his love to come back, wishing to say sorry, wishing to hug her, and whisper sweet endearments into her ear, wishing she was Lily Snape, not Lily Potter?

How many times had he wished his heart wasn't hopelessly ensnared by her devious charms? How many times did he wish that Severus Snape had never known the meaning of love?

* * *

The excited chatter of the students filled his ears. He remembered the spot Lily had sat at when she had been sorted. The spot she had sat and smiled at the Gryffindors around her, her sweet voice filling the ears of those worthless layabouts. The spot she had sat at and forgotten her first friend, who was sitting at the Slytherin table, ignoring the angry taunts of the people around him.

What would have changed if the Sorting Hat had granted his request and put him into Gryffindor next to Lily, if it hadn't said, "_That girl is a passing childhood fancy, the house will be your life." _But it wasn't a fancy, it was love.

Perhaps the hat never knew the meaning of love, after all, it was a tattered piece of enchanted fabric. Fabrics could not love. Or more likely, it had wished to laugh at him, laugh at his love-lost expression, at how he had trailed after Lily like a lost puppy, wishing to please his master?

Severus knew what love was, he didn't know how to love. Nobody had shown him how to make a female his, how to make sure Lily at least fancied him. It was everyone's fault for that.

Suddenly the doors clanged open, and the chatter spluttered to a stop. A crowd of curious First-Years slowly came in. Snape's eyes searched for him, even though his brain begged him not to.

Finally, he spotted the spawn of James Potter, currently talking to another of the Weasley brood. Snape waited for the boy to turn, to see that ugly face of James Potter so he could rage at it in his mind, the hazy face of his enemy replaced a clearer version, so he could make a picture of it, and burn it.

Rage was a powerful motivator, and it was the only emotion Snape could ever make sense of. Apart from grief.

The boy turned, and Lily's eyes bored into him. Snape's heart thudded to a stop, his chest constricting painfully, tears obstructing his vision.

Vivid green eyes. The colour of sparkling emeralds, the colour of freshly mown grass, the colour Snape thought of when he thought of Lily.

Snape had thought Dumbledore had lied to him when he said Harry had his mother's eyes, a lie carefully engineered to make Severus torture himself. That was Dumbledore's speciality after all.

But never had he thought Lily's eyes, staring at him emotionlessly, wanting the answer of why he sent her to his death, would be on the boy's face. It was the final proof that Lily had truly loved James Potter, and never himself.

Waves of furious anger pounded at him, while sadness obscured his thoughts.

The boy was scrawny, he seemed obtuse and unintelligent, he was un-coordinated. Had Lily Potter sacrificed her life for that?

* * *

Severus Snape never contemplated suicide. He did not want to die, did not want to face Lily Potter dancing in the arms of James Potter again.

To him, Lily was two different entities. The pure, innocent, lovely form of Lily Evans, and the devilish, taunting face of Lily Potter. But she was only like that because James Potter had corrupted her.

What had he fed her, to make her like him? Throughout the time Snape could have truthfully called Lily a friend, she had hated the Potter heir with unwavering hatred, a black wave of anger. What had James Potter given her? Had he enchanted her, with an Imperius or something? Had he fed her a love potion he slipped into the Pumpkin juice she liked? Had he fed her more lies of Snape, to switch the hatred from him to her.

Severus Snape never contemplated suicide. But today made him contemplate running away, into the darkness, away to a country of which the words had never rolled of Lily's toungue. A place without red or green, a place without the purity of Lily, without the evil of Voldemort. A place that only existed in Snape's wildest fantasies, fantasies that were quickly corrupted when James Potter strode in, his wand destroying the place.

Those green eyes of Lily were asking him questions. _Why did you abandon me? Why did you call me a Mudblood? Why didn't you come on my wedding day? Why did you let him kill me?_

Translucent tears rolled down his cheeks, as he begged for her to forgive him, and all his sins. But Lily was dead, and dead people do not forgive.

* * *

Was Severus insane? The ramblings of his mind were disjointed, leaping randomly from one place to another. His eyes were haunted by the spectral corpse of Lily Evans. Anger and grief filled him at alternating moments.

Yes, Snape was insane, insane with unrequited love. The unrequited love he wanted to forget, release into the abysses of unfulfilled memories and dreams. The unrequited love which encircled him, slowly choking him of life, of purpose.

He couldn't fight back. The forces of love had already won, had already forced him to surrender and lie in the dirt, tears streaming down his face. What could he do?

* * *

Snape's hand slowly entered the Firewhiskey cabinet again, the sharpened shards of silvery glass tearing into his skin, long fingers of scarlet liquid slowly falling onto the glass. But Snape didn't care about the stinging pain that would last, the scars that already criss-crossed his arms. His hand slowly scuttled around, searching desperately for a bottle that would wipe away his sorrows, his love, even if it cause him to retch horribly, even if it was only for a short amount of time. Because it was a release, and he wanted a release.

But there was nothing. No bottle left. The splotches of blood covered the splintering, wooden chest. Anxiety finally wormed onto Snape's face, his arm slowly stroking the mangy uncut hair Lily would stare at lovingly. There was no bottle left. No more Firewhiskey.

Snape stumbled back, worry etched on his face. His wand lay, unbidden. And Snape fell on the bed and cried. There would be no more bittersweet release. There would be nothing more Snape could savour from the final revenge James Potter had gotten.

For on the chest, on the bottom, was a carved inscription, carved into the wood, and carved into the blackness of Snape's soul.

_Hey Snivellus. How are you going? Lily just had a baby, Harry and he has her eyes. Sometimes I laugh at you, sometimes I feel sorry for you. But today, I realized I have everything I ever wanted, and I shouldn't waste life, thinking about tortured souls. So, I've sent you a parting gift, and hopefully, I shall never think of you again. Thanks for the fun times. – James Potter._

**So what do you think? I'm always been interested with Snape, because he is such a interesting, many-sided characters. He's a lovestruck fool, or an angry enemy, or a mix. **


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